Another Adventure for Two Hobbits
by VictorianChik
Summary: Two years after the final battle, Merry and Pippin are invited to spent the summer with Eowyn and her husband Faramir. The two hobbits have grown up a little, or have they? Rated T for CP in later chapters. If you have a problem with this, do not review!
1. Chapter 1 The Letter

AN: I confess, this is only my third fanfic, but it's my first time writing Lord of the Rings. I'm sure I got tons of stuff wrong, but I googled maps for names and places, so I hope it works out right. If not, please tell me, and I'll change it.

There will be some discipline in my story, but now right away. This will probably a long story with spankings appearing throughout.

Time - Two years after all the hobbits returned, but before Frodo leaves, though he isn't really in the story. I'm following the books mainly, so I have a line or two about the Scourging of the Shire or whatever it's called.

What else do I need to say? I don't own this, nor make any money off of it.

Please be patient as I'm trying to reread the books, watch the movies, and work off websites to recall what all happened. I remember the gist of the story, but names, dates, and places tend to escape me.

Thanks. Look forward to your comments.

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The teapot was whistling shrilly as Merry hurried into the small kitchen. It was past second breakfast, not quite to elevensies, but he felt a very strong, hot cup of tea would be just the thing to drink on the mild spring morning. He wore a rough wool shirt and a loose pair of trousers, but he could not help thinking of his fine chain-mail shirt that hung in his bedroom. It was great fun to put on that armor and strut up and down the lane for all to see. The older hobbits just shook their heads over such silliness, but the young hobbits looked on eagerly, often in envy. And very young hobbits clamored for a story about their grand adventures.

It had been two years since they had returned to the Shire, but the stories felt just as real when Merry told them as they had been when he had lived through it.

_Smack_!

The door banged against the wall as Mr. Peregrin Took charged in.

"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed, annoyed. "Can't you knock? I could have been behind that door."

"I heard the teapot whistling – where's my cup?" Pippin looked about, his little hands itching to get around a piping hot cup of Brandybuck tea.

"I thought you were weeding the garden," Merry tried to look cross as he poured Pippin a large cup of the purplish brown tea and then reached for the honey.

"I was," Pippin hopped into his seat at the kitchen table and began munching on biscuits, teacakes, cold toast, and anything else he could reach. "I don't know why I have to get stuck weeding the garden," he groused. "You get to stay in here and eat all you like while I toil in the dirt under the hot sun."

Merry fixed him with a stern look. "When we agreed to move to Crickhollow, we decided I would take care of most of the indoor chores including the cooking, and you would see to the grounds."

"You decided!" Pippin added several large spoonfuls of honey to his tea.

"And," Merry continued as if Pippin had not spoken, "you have lazed around all winter, snuggled with blankets, books, and tea by the fire while I did the chores, promising that you would do more once spring came. It's barely been pleasant three days, and already you're tired of work."

"We shouldn't have to work!" Pippin sat his cup down with a clink. "We were heroes, still are in most people's eyes! We should have a proper maid and a gardener boy and fat cook to treat us up right."

"I'll treat you to a firm smacking if you don't stop this nonsense," Merry decided with a firm look. "Drink up your turn and leave the rest of those crumpets alone. Then back to the garden with you. Your hands aren't even dirty – did you weed a single bed?"

"Think I was the gardener boy, the way you carry on," Pippin huffed. But he finished his tea and got up, snatching two crumpets while Merry was wiping down the stove. And then Pippin ran outside, glad to be make in the sunshine and warm air again.

"Lazy Took," Merry muttered. "Should have left him behind somewhere on the journey."

But he washed up Pippin's cup and set to work peeling the potatoes for supper, careful to cut all the skin off them, just the way Pippin liked it for potato soup. And there would be bread and jam and butter and more tea and perhaps some cake if Pippin actually did any work. Merry had a barrel of fine wine hidden in the cellar behind the stacks of carrots and onions, but that would be for supper if Pippin behaved.

As he cooked, Merry wondered if sometime it might be better to tell Pippin that his good behavior would result in a treat. Whenever Pippin was naughty or rebellious and Merry told him "Well, I was going to make some apple tart tonight, but now you've lost your chance," Pippin always gave him a tragic look as if to say _"I would have behaved if I knew there would be apple tart."_ Yet, if you told Pippin there was to be a treat, he would pester you all day long about. _"When can we have it? Now, Merry? Please, Merry, let's have it now. I can't wait, I really can't."_

"Merry! Merry!" Pippin ran back in the kitchen, panting hard.

"Dinner is not ready!" Merry slapped the wooden soupspoon hard on the table. "And if I have to tell you again to get to work, I'll take this spoon to your –"

"No, Merry, look!" Pippin held up a creamy-colored envelope. "It's a letter."

Merry still felt cross. "I can see it's a letter. Frodo probably wants us to come to Bag End for supper, though he needn't have been so formal. He could have told any one of the village women and we would have gotten the message. Word travels so fast in these parts, but I bet Frodo is trying to play the part of the hero, new master of the Shire –"

"No, Merry!" Pippin was nearly jumping up and down in excited/frustration . "It's from Eowyn!"

Merry dropped the soup, splattering the floor with little bits of potato, but he didn't notice. "Lady Eowyn?"

"Yes, yes," Pippin cheered, waving the letter around. "She writes from Ithilien where she now lives with Faramir, and they are married!"

"Stop jumping about, and give me the letter," Merry insisted, but Pippin was far to keyed up to settle down. He hopped about the kitchen on his big, bare feet, cheering and waving the letter like a small banner.

"She writes and she wants us to come visit her. In Ithilien! Another adventure for the two of us."

Merry managed to wrest the letter away from him and read over it while Pippin whooped and crowed around the kitchen.

Dearest Merry,

I suppose I should address you as Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck, but for me you will always be sweet, dear Merry who rode with me fearlessly and bravely out to battle. How does this spring find you? Very well, I hope, suffering no ills over the cold winter? Our winter was mild, but we lie south off your home, and we have not suffered illness or great loss in months here in Ithilien.

I write to inquire after you, and Pippin and even Frodo and Sam, and hope that you have all healed from the terrible war. I heard about your beloved Shire too late to act, or I would have gathered an army to march on your behalf and rid the vermin from your dear land. My husband also sends his sympathies and asks especially after Mr. Frodo and Samwise as he calls them with a fond smile.

I write also with another purpose in mind. I have decided that I must have you and Pippin come visit me for the summer, and I tell you right now I will not accept no as your answer. I must see you this summer at any cost, and you would love our home here near the river. Sam has written to me and told me that he is very busy with rebuilding the Shire, and poor Frodo would not feel up to travelling so great a distance, but I know of two very active hobbits who would like another adventure if I am not mistaken.

Now, Merry, before you grow concerned about going so great a distance, do hear me out. From Sam's letter, I gather that you and Pippin have set up house, but I'm sure by now you would enjoy a rest from such tedious work and I know that Pippin is eating you out of house and home. So I propose that by mid-May you close up your house, abandon the silly garden that Pippin must hate weeding, and come to visit Faramir and me for the whole summer. Yes, I said the whole summer. Indeed, I may insist you stay the autumn as well, just so I may have my fill of you.

We shall have dances and parties and Pippin must sing for us and you two must dance also. We shall go riding, and paddle in the river or swim if you like, and I shall send you back to the Shire healthy, happy, and twice as plump. And I have it on very good authority that someone or even two might be stopping by to visit, people you will dearly want to meet, around mid-summer. Now, I shall say no more about that, except that you will be very disappointed if you don't come and see who will also come, good friends of both of us.

As to the travel, I know it is over seven hundred miles, quite a long hike for two hobbits on foot. But I have spoken to several merchants, and I know of two very honest men who will give you a ride all the way to Rohan where I shall send my personal coach to pick you up if I cannot persuade Faramir to let me meet you there in person. Both merchants have very swift horses, and if you leave with the first merchants at the beginning of May, you will be here by the time the summer games start. If you must wait until the second merchant leaves, you will arrive at the height of the summer festival. That information is attached at the bottom, but I have already arranged it with both of them.

Dear, sweetest Merry, do come. I long for a familiar face. Faramir is the most loving, kind husband in Middle Earth, and I cannot say a cross word against him, but I miss my little friends. Now, that I have made you feel terribly sad for me, you must be persuaded to come and join us for the summer. You will come, I insist upon it as the sister to the King of Rohan, so you cannot refuse me.

With my deepest love and wishes,

Lady Eowyn

White Lady of Ithilien

"Well?" Pippin demanded the moment Merry finished reading.

Merry looked around at the cluttered kitchen. He thought about the work to be done for the summer, the garden they had planned out. He thought about evenings spent drinking and dancing at the small tavern with Sam and Frodo. He thought of warm summer days in the Shire, lying on the green grass and watching clouds float by lazily.

And then he looked at Pippin's eager, flushed face, waiting for an answer.

"Well," Merry smiled, "I suppose we're off on another adventure."

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Well, nice start? Bad start? Bring it on, I'm ready for the criticism.


	2. Chapter 2 Eowyn and Faramir

All right, yes, this ridiculously soon and short after my first posting. Looking back, I should have made this and chapter 1 all into one chapter. But then I thought if all the chapters are shorter, I can write them sooner and post more often. So you'll be reading the same amount, but thinking it's more. Huh? To quote Joey from Friends (tapping my head thoughtfully) , "Not just a hat-rack, my friends."

I hope it's not too sappy, but hey, they are still love birds. I'm also trying to set up the scene - I usually take a few pages or chapters in my other stories to show you where everyone is and what they're thinking.

Disclaimer : Don't own, make money, or have any special connections.

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Eowyn stared out at the fields that were quickly turning from yellowish green to a lush, deep green that rippled with the light wind under a blue sky specked with white clouds. She could rest for today. All the patients were napping for the afternoon, well into their healing thanks to good food, peaceful sleep, and her special healing medications. She was needed here, administering new health to the sick. But still –

"Ah," a male spoke from her side, "what thoughts can my love be thinking to draw such a frown on her otherwise very pretty face?"

Eowyn smiled in spite of herself. "I can think good thoughts, but look serious at the same time."

Faramir drew near, watching her face carefully. "Yes, of course, but I have seen that frown many times in the last months. You are not happy."

"No, no!" she protested, turning towards him. He was so handsome with those gentle blue eyes and that soft mane of golden red hair – so terribly, wonderfully handsome. "I will always be happy with you. Never question that. Never, ever. I am yours now and forever."

"But?" he prodded.

She could not hide anything from him. "It is just different than I thought it would be," she looked back at the fields. From their stone castle, high on one of the hills, they could see for miles past the river.

"Different?" he would not let the problem go.

"After the war, and after meeting you, I was sure I would be happy healing and living very quietly."

"But you are not?" Faramir wished she would look at him. "You are dissatisfied here? You long for the excitement of the battle? You are going to leave here to join the army, to put on your armor, and reclaim your right to ride in the ranks?"

She laughed, that beautiful musical laugh of hers which made his heart beat a little faster with love for her. "No, that battle was enough. I guess I'm suffering from the quiet that comes after a storm. I know you dislike the storm, but a part of me longs for the lightning and thunder and wild rain to continue forever. It is passion and anger and beauty and love and hatred all in one raging storm, and I watch it and feel at peace because it is bigger and greater than I will every be."

Faramir looked at her and then muttered, "Strider was a fool."

"What?" she glanced up. She rarely talked about Aragorn, and Faramir hardly ever brought him up.

"He was a fool," Faramir said emphatically. "He could have had you, and who does he settle for? A simpering, weeping woman who lies upon a sofa, moaning for weeks on end."

"Faramir!" Eowyn scolded. "That is no proper way to talk about Queen Arwen. I'm sure the war was very hard for her, and she had to chose between her people and her love, and that –"

"Is in no way the same as picking up a sword and riding into battle," her husband decided. "In my eyes, you will always be the one who won the battle, killing the King of the Ring-Wraiths. While our dear queen was still crying and even I was lying on a stack of wood about to be burnt, you were in the middle of the war, ready to die for your people. I don't know how you did it – such a fair beautiful woman –"

"I protest!" she whirled to glare at him, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. "I have an abundance of strength and fight in me."

"For a woman," he agreed.

She let her eyes flash. "Are you daring to suggest that women are not as strong as men?"

"I am only thinking that I have carried you to bed many a time, snuggled in my arms, your hands around my neck, and you have never offered to do the same for me."

"You big oaf," she retorted affectionately. "I shall refuse to be carried next time, no matter how much I enjoy kisses in your arms."

He began smile, but then schooled his features. "Ah, no, my love, you shan't distract me from my earlier question. Are you unhappy?"

She smirked mischievously. "Let's say that I am. What would you do to make me happy?"

"I don't know," he watched her warily. "Is this something like a new dress or something like all my riches?"

"You have no riches," Eowyn sassed.

"Exactly," Faramir agreed sadly. "They are all your riches, spoils from the war and gifts from the royalty of Middle Earth. And presents from those you've healed. Your brother was kind enough to let me govern a small bit of land here, but it does not reap a hundredth of your riches. Yet I like to think it's mine, and until now, you've indulged me."

"It has nothing to do with riches or earnings," she told him, noting for the thousandth time how attractive he looked when he pretended to be worried about money or power. "I have invited two friends for the summer."

"From the way you are edging about this," he commented, "I am left to assume that your friends are either two-toed trolls or other people whom I will not like."

"It's Merry and Pippin," she said frankly.

Faramir blinked. "The two halflings, companions to the other two with the Ring?"

"Yes."

Suddenly, Faramir looked very worried. "Is Merry ill? I know he was hurt in the battle – has he worsened? The Ring nearly killed Frodo. Are the halflings coming here to heal? I will sent a troop to bring them here directly so you may heal them immediately without wasting a single day."

"No, not that. They are perfectly fine, but I would like to have some company for the summer."

"Are you lonely?"

"A little," she confessed.

Faramir blinked before stepping closer to his wife. "You should have told me. I have been spending far too much time riding to oversee the planting. When you are not healing, you spend your days listening to and settling disputes between the people. I will stay at home more, and you can tell all the people whining to you to take a jump in the river."

She laughed again. "No, I love you and I love the people here, but I miss my brother and everyone back in Rohan. I was very close to the hobbits, and I would like to see them again, that is all. And of course, there is –" she gestured to herself.

"What?" Faramir was confused.

"I thought I would be with child by now," she blinked quickly, refusing to tear up.

"Oh, dearest," Faramir reached for her, wrapping two strong arms around her and pulling her up a little to stand on her tiptoes and lean against his chest. "You should not worry about that."

"We've been married ten months," she whispered into his shoulder. "And we've bedded together for fourteen months –"

"Sshhhh!" he hissed, glancing around furtively. "No one's supposed to know about that."

She giggled quietly, still clinging to him.

Assured that no one had heard something to suggest that their engagement was anything other than chaste, Faramir continued to comfort her. He kept one hand around her back, holding her tight and ran his hand over her long blond hair. Already, he wanted to swoop her up in both arms and carry her to bed. If only he could carry away her troubles as easily.

"All right," she sniffed and pulled back, returning to the strong noblewoman he knew, the warrior, the fighter, the woman who could stare death in the face and not step back. "Enough of my crying. Look at me – I am turning into Arwen as we speak. So, yes to Merry and Pippin?"

Faramir laughed this time, his mouth turning up at the corners just the way she liked it. "Do you not amuse me! Yes, may I have company?' As if this were not your home, designed for you to be the healer. I simply came along to be with you, relieved of my previous duties as son of the steward or anything important. And here you are asking when I know perfectly well that you have not only invited them, but they have already agreed to come, and you suddenly wanted to act like the dutiful wife. I suppose if I said no, you would carry on until I said yes."

"You know me too well," she admitted.

"Are you afraid that two halflings will cause such an uproar?" he questioned. "They are so small, the size of children."

"But you only saw them for short bits," Eowyn reminded him. "And mainly Frodo and Sam. You have not seen the full forces of Merry and Pippin, not yet."

"Pippin served my father," Faramir remembered, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Aye, but feelings were running high, everyone was scared, and Pippin was so worried that he did not have time to get into mischief. You know he did try to steal from Gandalf one night, nearly got himself and the rest of us killed."

Faramir stared at her. "A halfling tried to steal from Gandalf? Our Gandalf? It's a wonder the halfling is still in one piece."

"I promise you," Eowyn assured him, "you let them come, and neither of us will be bored or lonely this summer."

He nodded, still uncertain. "Well, I see no reason why they shouldn't come. We haven't had company for a while. I am certain you will treat them right, so well in fact that I will not see you at all this summer, and you shall find me a very sad man come autumn."

She laughed, the bloom back in her cheeks. "Never, my lord."

Of course, she could tell him about the other visitors that were coming, but that would ruin the surprise. No need for her husband to know everything – she would have to keep him in the dark until they arrived.

"Now," Eowyn drew herself up, straightening the folds of her dark blue dress, "I must see to a late afternoon hearing. Some poor widow has lost her last hen, and I shall have to find the guilty party that stole it."

"Meaning you probably will give her another flock of hens at your own expense."

"You know me very, very well," she nodded.

"Til supper then," he smiled at her and leaned in for a kiss.

She kissed him, her hand rising to caress the side of his face while their lips met. And as always, she was wistful when he had to pull away.

He had taken three steps away from her when he turned back. "These halflings – not to sound cruel, but you aren't thinking of letting them act as your children for the summer?"

"Faramir," Eowyn objected, trying not to look the least bit guilty.

"They may look like children, but they are not," he said, cautioning her.

"I will treat them like any friend of mine, and yours," she added.

He did not quite believe her, but nodded skeptically. "Very well, but if I find you dressing them in baby bibs and bonnets, you and I will have another talk."

That reminder of her barrenness coming from anyone else would have hurt her. But the way Faramir looked, trying to seem stern and commanding but coming off as huffy – it was too endearing.

She ran forward and kissed him again. "I promise, no babying of hobbits. Though I can only suppose at what mischief they will find here. If they get into trouble, you must be the one to admonish them."

"Me?" he looked shocked. "Why me?"

"Because you are head of the household, yes, you are," she insisted when he looked doubtful, "and I will be the one dragged off in their silly games, and we must have one adult about with a level head. Promise me?"

"I promise," he chuckled. "If they find trouble, bad trouble, I'll tip them both over my knee, and send you off to your healing so you can't intervene whilst I punish them. How does that sound?"

She giggled at the idea of Faramir ever doing such a preposterous thing as spanking hobbits. "Quite good. Now, off to the fields with you, and make sure the workers plant that crop of carrots in between the radishes and potatoes, or the rabbits will eat them all."

"So terribly bossy," Faramir muttered as he walked away.

She heard him. "Oh, and dearest?"

"Yes?" he turned back.

"I will be the one carrying you to bed tonight if you like," she raised an eyebrow suggestively.

He reflected as he swung onto his horse that he had the best wife in the entire world with beautiful, passionate, quick-witted Eowyn. She may not have become queen of Gondor, but she was queen of his heart, empress of his world, everything teeming with life and love because of her.


	3. Chapter 3 Different

AN: All right, I've decided to make this story different from the canon, almost AU, if you will. I'm reading and discovering more about canon, more than I ever thought possible, but for the discrepancies in my story from the books or the movie, I will just let them stand. I spend all weekend researching and rewatching, and this is what I've got.

Don't own, make any money, and any other disclaimers I need to say.

And I apologize if this story seems to take a while to warm up. I have to write my way into things. And it's not slash in case anyone was wondering. I don't have a problem with slash (looove Larrkin's stuff), but my story is just not.

So enough blathering? On with the show!

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Though the day had been warm for March, the night turned very cold, and Merry insisted Pippin put on a coat before they went to the Fox and Crow Tavern.

"Oh, Merry," Pippin protested, "I won't be cold. Do you have my pipe?"

"Yes, and you're wearing a coat," Merry said adamantly. He put a few coins in his pocket, sure that Pippin had not even thought about money for drinks, and stood in front of the door, arms crossed. "No, Pippin, not until you get a coat!"

"Good grief, Merry," Pippin complained as he struggled into his wool coat, "yer not my mother."

"You'd never know it," Merry muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, let us go."

Pippin hurried out the door. Merry thought about locking it, but Pippin would not wait so Merry simply pulled it tight, certain no one would steal from them. The other hobbits thought they slept with swords or something equally as dangerous, and the only robbery that ever happened in the Shire was the thieving of pasty pies, of which Merry was sure Pippin was nearly always guilty.

"Hurry up," Pippin cried running ahead and then coming back to urge Merry on.

Merry wanted to run, to race along the road with Pippin like they had when they were both tweens and carefree and happy and before the long war. Merry put his head down against the cold wind, fighting off a wave of sadness. He did not mind growing up so much, but it was hard to have things change. Before they left, he had lived with his family who waved him off as a mere tot who had barely grown into his feet. Now, he was in charge, making his own decisions.

It would be nice to go see Eowyn and Faramir for the summer. He could relax, enjoy the summer, let someone else watch Pippin for change.

"Merry," Pippin popped up beside him, "Merry, do hurry. I'm so cold. I'm practically freezing. Why didn't you tell me to bring my muffler? You brought yers."

Merry almost pulled his off to give to Pippin, but he stopped him just in time. "No, Pippin, you should have thought of it yerself. Besides, we're almost there, just up the next lane"

Pippin trotted along, talking some to himself and some to Merry. "I like the Fox and Crow," he mused, " but not as much as the Green Dragon. Folks were livelier there. Here they tend to sit and puff on pipes, which is fine, but a little singing and dancing would be nice. But I guess over here the folks are older and don't want to have fun."

It was on the tip of Merry's tongue to snap back, "Well, you didn't have to come here to live! You could have stayed in Hobbiton and listened to the all the singing you like, Peregrin Took!" But that would have been harsh, and Pippin wasn't being critical, Merry knew. Pippin just had to say his thoughts out loud, a habit Merry usually did not mind.

The Fox and Crow wasn't too crowded, and Merry found seats for them while Pippin teased the barmaid. The barmaid, a plump hobbit with graying hair and an ample bosom, tweaked Pippin on the ear and went to get them some home brew, a sharp ale that the Fox and Crow was famous for.

"Rather quiet tonight," Pippin observed, looking around the hobbits who were all drinking, smoking, and talking softly among themselves.

"It's just a plain old night," Merry replied. "Aye! Look who just walked in the door."

Pippin turned and then let out a happy cry. "Sam! Sam is here! What is he doing all the way over here? Quite a walk, don't you think? Sam, over here!"

Sam, seeing them, broke into a smile and trotted over. "Hullo, all."

"Sam, sit down," Pippin insisted, scooting over so Sam could sit next to him. "Where is Frodo? Is he coming?"

"No," Sam's face looked very serious. "No, Frodo is staying home tonight. I – uh, I just came to see some old friends."

"Who?" Pippin craned his head around to look. "Who are they?"

"You, Pippin," Sam couldn't help smiling again. "You and Merry. Frodo was tired when I left Bag End this morning, and Rosie wanted to have a quiet day and spend the evening by the fire, so I thought I'd come over here and see what you lads were doing."

"You'll stay the night?" Merry asked, knowing Sam could not walk all the way back to Bag End in the cold night.

"Yes," Sam agreed, shruggin out of his greatcoat, "but not with you. A cousin of Rosie's has invited to lodge me. No, Merry, there isn't room at Crickhollow for me. You already had another bedroom built so Pippin could have his own room, and I won't make you sleep in the parlor, either of you."

"It is a bit cramped," Merry admitted.

"We have the greatest news," Pippin said excitedly, not caring about the size of Crickhollow. "We are going to see Eowyn and Faramir this summer. Merry wrote to them this afternoon, and we are going! And you have to come, too, Sam. And Frodo. We'll be off on another adventure, except this time no one will be chasing us. Yes? What do you say, Sam?"

"Pippin," Merry spoke up, "why don't you see if you can get Sam here a mug of ale?"

"Oh, Besty will be by soon," Pippin waved him off.

"Pippin, go get him a mug," Merry said in a voice that was a little sterner. When Pippin looked like he might pout, Merry added, "She might have some of those honey-roasted nuts you like so much."

"Whee!" Pippin scooted off the wooden bench and nearly tripped over another bench in his haste to find Betsy the Barmaid.

"All right," Merry lowered his voice, knowing he didn't have much time to talk to Sam alone, "how is Frodo?"

Sam's face creased. "Very quiet. He doesn't do much – writes a bit, eats a little, stays at home. Me and Rosie invite him to join us at the Green Dragon, but he says he'd rather sit by the fire reading. Frodo always was a quiet lad, very thoughtful and studious like, almost shy, unlike someone else we both know."

Sam nodded across the room where Pippin had just stumbled into someone's table, sloshed their drinks, and was trying to apologize.

"Pippin!" Merry hissed. Pippin looked back at them with a very sorry face before he tried to clean up the spilled ale. He grabbed what he thought was a handkerchief and soaked up half the ale before he realized he was using someone's floppy hat. The hobbits at the table looked even more upset, and Pippin kept stammering apologies.

"I can't take him anywhere," Merry groaned. "I swear, I don't know how we made it through the whole war alive. Between his tendency for trouble and his curiosity and never sitting still for three seconds together –!"

Sam laughed. "Why, Merry, are you growing up, lad? You sounded almost adult-like there for a moment."

Merry smiled wryly, though it was good to hear Sam laugh. "Aye, someone must. Eowyn said she wrote to you?"

"Yes, asking after Frodo and me, nice sort of way. Never thought I'd be getting letters from princesses, but here I am."

Merry did not correct Sam about Eowyn's title, just nodded along.

"She wrote after Christmas and said she was planning to invite all four of us for the summer, but she wasn't sure about Mr. Frodo's health. I didn't see her that much after the fighting, but she seemed a sweet lady. You rode into battle with her, didn't you?"

"Aye," Merry remembered happily, "she was the bravest warrior I'd ever seen. She was scared of nothing, not even those huge olephants, or the orcs, or the Ring-Wraiths. She was so kind and beautiful and friendly, especially to me, all alone in a strange camp with Aragorn and the others all busy. No, leave them alone!"

This last bit was directed across the room to Pippin who was offering to refill the empty mugs, and the hobbits at that table were telling him to go away.

"Silly tween," Merry muttered, returning to Sam.

"So you will go?" Sam asked.

"I would do anything my lady asked," Merry replied. "She could ask me to go with her back to the gate of Mordor, and I would agree. And I can't very well leave Pippin here, now can I? He'll have the Shire in ruins, and everyone yelling at him, which they are already."

"I can't go," Sam lifted honest eyes up to Merry's. "Rosie and I haven't been together that long, and I can't leave Frodo alone."

Merry nodded, understanding what Sam meant. Sam could not go because Frodo could not, but Sam was not about to try to stop Merry and Pippin from having another adventure.

"How will you travel?" Sam asked, taking a sip of ale from Pippin's mug. Across the room, Pippin was arguing with the table-full of irritated hobbits, and the annoyed tavern-keeper was going over to see what the problem was.

"Old Padmore does not look happy," Sam noted.

Merry shook his head before saying, "We're going to ride with a merchant in early May. It'll be by horses, and we'll changed them twice a day, and no one will be after us so we should make the trip in about three or four weeks. Horses are much faster than hobbits on foot."

"Seemed like it took us forever," Sam agreed. "My feet still hurt when I think of those first few weeks when Strider made us hustle along. Him with those long legs and firm boots, taking one step to our three."

"It was exhausting. Oh, what now?"

The tavern-keeper, Padmore, was dragging Pippin back to Merry and Sam by the arm. Padmore stopped in front of Merry and asked, "Does this one belong at your table?" giving Pippin a shake.

It was a ridiculous question. Everyone knew them at the Fox and Crow, knew who they were and where they had been and what they had done.

"Never seen him before," Merry replied, pulling out his pipe.

"Complete stranger," Sam agreed.

"Merry, Sam!" Pippin protested.

"Oh, all right, he's ours." Merry reached into his pocket and fished out some coins. "What's the damage, Padmore? How much do I owe you?"

"You? Nothing!" the tavern-keeper frowned. "But I have half a mind to make this one here wash dishes for upsetting my patrons."

Pippin drew himself up. "Excuse me, but do you know who I am? What I have done? I went all the way to Mordor and back, fighting beside men, elves, dwarves, and kings!"

"Well, they forgot to give you this," Padmore bent Pippin over the table and gave him a sharp smack on the rear end. "That'll teach you!"

Merry fought back giggles, and Sam was grinning as Padmore stormed off, muttering things about hobbits who were too big for their britches. Pippin huffed as he sat down beside Sam.

"I should challenge him to a sword-fight for that," Pippin crossed his arms.

"No one else noticed," Merry pointed out. "And you did spilled their drinks and ruined at least one hat."

"Hmph," Pippin pouted, "how dare he touch a warrior back from battle? He is lucky I spared him. I could have taken his head off."

Sam took a quick sip of ale to hide his smile, but Merry merely pushed his mug towards Pippin.

"Here, drink this and try to stay still. I'll go get us another round. And no nuts for you, Pippin."

"Aw," Pippin muttered into his mug, "I never get anything nice."

---------------

A few hours later, filled with ale and good cheer, Merry and Pippin headed home in the dark cold night. After promised to stop by the next morning, Sam had headed off with a hearty wave goodbye.

Their house was dark and chilly when they returned, but Merry got a fire going and sent Pippin to bed with a hot cup of tea and a bedwarmer full of smoldering coals.

Merry guessed it to be about two o'clock by the time he crawled into bed. Morning would come early, and he knew Pippin would complain at having to do chores and would flat out refuse to touch the garden. "_We're leaving, Merry – we don't have to bother with the stupid garden."_

At times, Merry wondered why he didn't just send Pippin back to live with his parents. Just drop Pippin on their doorstep and say, "_Here's something that belongs to you," _and walk away. So easy, so simple – and no more Pippin to get into trouble and annoy everyone. So very, very easy . . .

Merry awoke suddenly with a start. His bedroom was dark save for a little silver moonlight from the window. But he had heard something.

He waited, and then he heard it again, a low whimpering sound, almost crying.

Merry tossed over his covers. The room was icy cold, but he didn't reach for a robe as he padded out of his room. Down the hall, and then he stepped into Pippin's room.

Pippin was laying in a tumble of sheets and blankets, looking more like a fitful toddler than an almost adult hobbit. But he was twisting back and forth in the bed, his eyes screwed shut as he moaned and whimpered.

"Pippin, Pippin!" Merry hissed. "You're having a nightmare. Come on, Pippin, wake up."

He placed a hand on Pippin's tossing shoulder, and immediately, Pippin's eyes flew open.

"M-Merry?" he squinted in the darkness.

"Aye," Merry nodded. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Pippin pulled himself up to lean against the backboard of bed.

"I was dreaming," Pippin whispered.

"Was it the orcs again?" Merry asked in what he hoped was his most soothing voice.

"No," Pippin pulled the covers up to his neck, shivering.

"The trolls? The Ring-Wraiths? The Ents burning?"

Pippin shook his head firmly, cowering against his pillows.

"Then what?"

"It was you getting hurt," Pippin whispered.

"Ah, Pip," Merry said gently.

"No," Pippin protested, sniffing back tears, "it was awful. That terrible gathering we watched, all the enemy drawing in, and Faramir almost being burnt alive. I was so scared, and then the battle started. All the swords and the arrows – blood everywhere, everyone dying. And then I saw you, and you were hurt. And I thought I would die to and – and . . ."

"Shh," Merry hushed him. "We are fine now."

"But Frodo's not," Pippin said, swiped at his eyes. "He changed. And Sam is different, and you – you are different. Everything changed."

"War does that to people," Merry said before he could stop himself. Pippin sniffed even harder, and Merry tried to soften his words. "It was scary, I admit. When I rode with Eowyn to battle, and we were on the front line, I knew I could die right then. But I didn't. I was brave, and you were very, very brave, climbing up to light the signal. You did that, Pippin – you helped save the war."

"But that signal caused you to go into battle," Pippin was crying by then. "You came with the troops from Rohan because I lit it."

Merry blinked. Just when he thought Pippin was really still a child inside, the younger hobbit surprised him, having more insight than Merry thought possible in that curl-covered head.

"It's late to worry about that," Merry decided that a firm tone was in order. He could argue about who was responsible for almost getting who killed all night. But Pippin understood the firm tone, knew that it meant to hush up and settle down. "We both survived, we both made it back, and we have those chain-mail shirts to wear to prove it. And this summer, we are going to see Eowyn and Faramir again, but I'm not taking you if you keep worrying about what almost happened. Do you want to stay here all alone?"

"No," Pippin said immediately, his eyes wide with the thought of being left behind.

"Then enough fussing."

"All right," Pippin mumbled, sinking back down in bed.

"Go back to sleep, and no more waking up," Merry ordered, standing up. He gave Pippin's shoulder a warm squeeze before turning away.

Pippin gave him a tired smile before closing his eyes, falling asleep instantly.

Merry walked back to his own room and climbed into bed. But unlike Pippin, he did not lay back down and go right back to sleep. Instead, he leaned against the pillows and stared out into the darkness. In the daylight, he was usually fine, but it was harder at night to relax. If he closed his eyes, he could see them all – the monsters that had killed so fiercely, the blood spilled, the battle stretching over the fields, that orc that had chased them deep into the woods, hungry for their blood and meat.

No wonder Pippin still had nightmares.

Merry had them, too. Terrifying, horrific dreams that awoke him in the dead of night, filled him with terror and dread.

Was it a good idea to go visit Eowyn? To return to the places that would remind them? To go back on the roads that had lead to so much death and destruction?

Merry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was nonsense to worry about what had happened. In a few hours, it would be morning, and in daylight, he would forget about the terror of the journey and the battle.

Besides, it was silly to think about not going to visit Eowyn because it would bring back bad memories. She must have even worse memories: her cousin dying, her uncle being possessed, her uncle dying, fighting the Ring-Wraith.

And also, there would be something comforting staying with mankind again, the big folks. Courage and hope were grand, of course, but there was something to be said about the strength and power of men. Aragorn had protected them, but between Eowyn and Faramir, Merry knew that he and Pippin would be as safe as they could be. Not that Merry really expected orcs or the Wraiths to come back, but there would something reassuring about staying in a place where he and Pippin would never have to fear anything like that. Eowyn could take care of the Wraiths if they came, and Faramir was supposed to be very good with a sword though Merry had never seen it. And beside, they were bigger and much braver than two hobbits could ever be.

And with that last thought, Merry let himself fall back asleep.


	4. Chapter 4 Sorrow and Hope

AN: All right, finally got a new chapter up. Tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money.

Thanks!

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Faramir sat in front of the fire, watching the flames dance up and down. They never stayed still, always moving, but going nowhere.

They needed the fire on the cold nights, needed its warmth. But the flames could burn, burn badly, even kill.

Eowyn came in the room behind and stopped in the doorway. "Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you'd got to after supper. Of course, I'd find you here, snuggled by the fire, reading up on the new rules of diplomacy or something equally droll."

He looked up at her and tried to smile before looking back into the fire.

She hesitated then went to stand near the fireplace, pretending to warm her hands. "I had the worst time with one of my patients. I know they are in pain, and I know they want to be healed, but goodness me, have a little faith! Because I told her it would take two weeks to cure her very deep cough, she as good as called me a pretense of a witchdoctor! Acting as if I were trying to rob her, as if I had no skills. I feel deeply for our patients, but they should show some restraint, some decorum. After all I was a patient once, and I remember showing the utmost submission to my healers."

Eowyn smiled at her husband, sure that would amuse him, since neither of them had been good patients.

But Faramir didn't seem to notice what she had said, just stared into the fire.

"Faramir?" Eowyn stepped closer to him. "Dearest, are you quite well?"

"I am just a little tired," he admitted, "and I feel –"

"I knew it," she rushed forward. "You are ill!"

She felt his forehead and cheeks worriedly while fussing, "I knew I had been neglecting you lately, what with hobbits coming to visit and going on and on about my patients. I am putting you to bed right now, and tomorrow you are to rest, do you hear me?"

"No, I'm not sick," he assured her.

"That is what they all say, right before they have a nervous collapse," she disagreed.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked simply.

"You don't know that day or date?" Eowyn's eyes widened. "You are worse than I suspected. You must go to bed."

"Today is March 15th," Faramir said

She hesitated before saying, "You are thinking of the battle, that last great battle? Aye, it was terrible, but we agreed to wait two more days to celebrate it so all the townsfolk and farmers could rejoice with us."

"It's the 15th of March," Faramir repeated. "Two years ago to this day, my father died."

Eowyn stopped, looking down at him, still holding his hand in attempt to pull him to bed. Finally, she stammered, "I am sorry. I am. Let us go to bed. I will read to you for while until you forget. And then we will sleep, and tomorrow you won't have to think about him. And not think about him until next year."

"I have to think about him," Faramir said seriously. "He was my father, and –"

"He was a monster," Eowyn trembled. "He nearly killed you. He was selfish and greedy and crazy, and he probably led your brother to destruction, too. I hate that man, your murderer if not for Pippin. I will always hate him as you must, that miserable, horrible, poisonous –"

"Nay," Faramir took both her hands in his, "I was not thinking like that. He was my father, and I have to remember him on the day he died."

"No, don't ever think about him," Eowyn protested. "Forget him, forget his cruelty and malice, his hate and anger. Dwell on happy thoughts."

"I need to do this," Faramir said, still holding her hands. "You need to let me grieve for him, just for a little while. I don't deny what he did, but you need let me feel sad for now."

She wanted to argue, to protest that Denethor was dead and Faramir should only think of happy things, of love and life with her. But she nodded, giving his hands a quick squeeze and leaning forward to kiss his forehead. Then she went to another chair, near enough to fire for warmth but far enough to give him space. She picked up a book, pretending to read, turning a page often enough to appear realistic while all the while her thoughts centered on the man across from her.

Why wouldn't he let her comfort him? He was always so good at helping her conquer sad feelings. Why must he sit alone while she was there to help him? Just like all men. Her husband, her uncle, to some extent her brother – all of them preferring to suffer in silence. So very silly – preferring to keep it inside when she was right there. A shared burden was always easier to bear, but no! Not for the men of Middle Earth. They had to remain stolid and resilient – foolish creatures!

That was why she loved the hobbits. No ridiculous pride or cold demeanors there, just love and friendship. Sweet Merry who wanted to stay by her side the whole time, both in camp and in battle. And little Pippin, so worried about Merry. They were endearing, both of them, and though she knew them not as long, Sam and Frodo had seemed delightful too. Yet, here she was, stuck with the most tiresome man who would mourn the loss of a hated father while a beloved wife sat idly by . . .

"Oh, very well," Faramir looked towards her. "If you're going to sit there and seethe, you might as well come and do it on my lap as I shan't get a moment's peace until you are by me."

Eowyn did not need another offer. She put her book aside and eagerly went to her husband, preparing to sit beside him in the large chair. But he would have none of that, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her torso.

"I am too heavy for you," she objected, though not very urgently.

"Oh, hush," he told her. "You belong here just like that with your hair all around my arms, my lady."

Without further argument, Eowyn settled back into his arms, resting her golden head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your father."

"I know you are," Faramir whispered. He placed a very tender kiss on her cheek, and she snuggled closer.

"I had a letter from Merry today," she said softly, gazing into the fire.

"Hmm?" Faramir looked down at her, quite content to stay nestled up together forever.

"He writes that he and Pippin will come with the first merchant and hopefully arrive by the end of May, only a little over two months from now. May I go to Rohan to meet them?"

"No, you may not," Faramir answered decidedly.

She looked up at him, surprised. "I beg your pardon? You tell me no?"

He smiled wryly at her. "Far be from me to deny you anything, but I know quite well what will happen if I let you go. You say Rohan, but you will travel even farther north until you meet them halfway, and therefore you will have to leave in the middle of May to reach them in time. Then the three of you will take your sweet time coming back. The hobbits will want to stop along the way to see old faces and places, and you will indulge them. Then you all will think it a good idea to stop by Gondor before coming home, just so the halfings can see Aragron, who insist they stay for some time so he can treat them properly. By the time you get home, the summer will be almost over, and I will have missed my love for three months. Nay, better for them to come here, and then we all venture out together."

He spoke sense, but Eowyn felt a little contrary at being denied. "We would not be so reckless," she told him prissily.

"And what of your healing?" he went on. "Ill men and women come here, praying for your tender care, and what am I to tell them? 'My apologies, but I have no idea where my wife is. She left a month ago, and she could be anywhere in Middle Earth, travelling with a couple of hobbits.'"

"You could come with us," Eowyn said though she knew she would not win this battle. Faramir was right; she could not leave her healing after she had trained so long.

"If you had left without telling me, there would be nothing I could do," Faramir said. "Even if you insisted on going, I probably could not keep you. So I ask you, as your husband and your faithful subject and your dearest love, please do not go."

"Well," she huffed, "if you have to put it like that –! But you know that I will drive you mad as the summer approaches, wanting everything to be just right."

"I not only know," he placed a firm kiss on her mouth, "I expect it."

------

_Seven Weeks Later_

"No, Pippin," Merry said in exasperation.

"Why not?" Pippin pouted, crossing his arms as he sat on the floor. "Why can't I take it?"

"We have already filled three trunks," Merry pointed at the open trunks on the floor. "My stuff fit in the small one, and your stuff cannot all fit in the bigger two, one of which is a mankind-sized trunk which neither of us can lift. You are not bringing the extra bow and arrow set."

"But we might need it, if we are attacked!"

"You are already bringing one bow and arrow set, and you cannot fire two at the same time. We are taking our suits of armor, our swords, enough clothes to stay a year, and we must save room for any gifts Sam and Frodo want to send Eowyn and Faramir."

"They shouldn't get to send gifts," Pippin snapped. "They aren't going, and they weren't friends with them like we were."

"We aren't telling Sam and Frodo no gifts," Merry announced. "And we should start thinking of what gifts we want to take with us."

Pippin froze to think for a second, then cheerfully said, "Ourselves. We're the best gifts they could hope for."

"Very sweet," Merry observed, "but I was thinking more in the lines of actual gifts."

"I don't have anything to give that could be a gift – wait!" Pippin leapt to his feet and dashed out of the room. A few moments later, he returned with a hunk of misshapen, deformed wood. "Look!" he held up the wood.

Merry stared at it. "You're giving them wood? For the fire, maybe?"

"No," Pippin looked crushed, "it's a carving. I've been working on it for weeks. What do you think?"

Merry swallowed. Carving was one of Pippin's touchy points, as the younger hobbit thought he was much better than he really was. They had nearly fallen apart altogether last fall when Pippin had been carving a piece of oak and left it by the fire, and Merry had tossed it in carelessly. When Pippin had found that his work of art was ablaze, he had gone in a fit of rage, bursting into tears while swinging his fists to challenge Merry to a fight. Several cups of tea and slices of pie and lots of soothing words, and Merry had convinced Pippin that the world was not over.

Now, faced with another artwork, Merry did his best to look interested. "Oohh, that's very – nice, Pip. I can see that you've been working on it."

"Yes," Pippin's head bobbed eagerly, "it's a carving of the north of Bucklebury, Crickhollow mainly. This is the hollow," he pointed to an indentation in the wood, "and this is our house," pointing to a small rise in the wood. "It needs some more work, but I thought I could work on it during the trip."

Pippin with a sharp knife in a jostling caravan did not sound like a good idea, but Merry nodded along, not wanting to spoil his delight. Merry had been thinking about jars of jam and preserves and bottles of wine as gifts, but if it were the thought that counted, then Pippin had the right idea.

"You could carve too, Merry," Pippin ran to the fireplace and began shifting through the piled up logs on the hearth. "I'll find a piece of wood for you."

Merry, who had carved his last pipe and had done a better job than the carver of his store-bought pipe, did not want to remind Pippin of his advanced carving skills. "No, I think I'll stick to other gifts. Leave the wood alone and come back to packing. Now, are you sure you must bring the horseshoes that you brought back from Gondor?"

"Aragon said they would bring good luck," Pippin protested. "And we both like playing horse shoes on the lawn."

"Though the shoes are really to heavy for us to throw," Merry reminded him.

"No, they weren't!"

"And the last game we played, you lost control, and flung your shoe back into the window."

"I tripped over a root."

"And it rained that night, and we woke to a foot of water in the parlor that nearly ruined our floor. And we had to clean it up before Frodo came the next day because we wanted to prove what good housekeepers we were. So we paid each of the hobbit-tots to wade into our parlor and bale out the water with small buckets."

"That could have happened to anyone!"

"And Frodo came early and walked past the broken window and got hit in the face with muddy water thrown by one of the tots."

"Fine," Pippin pouted even more. "I'll leave the horse shoes behind. Though you get to take all your books." He pointed accusingly at the four books tucked into a corner on Merry's trunk.

Merry looked down at the books. They were favorites of his – tales about adventure mixed with poetry and a tiny bit of elvish that he was trying to learn.

"Are you really going to read them?" Pippin challenged. "Are you going to take time to read those books in some dark corner while everyone else is having fun this summer? I'll be dancing and drinking and eating and laughing and talking with Eowyn and Faramir while you sulk in a corner, reading."

"I'll only take two," Merry took two of the thicker books out. "But no horse shoes, and no second set of bow and arrows."

"Agreed," Pippin said as if he was making a very noble sacrifice.

"Now," Merry took a deep breath, "about your three wooden boxes of pipe smoke . . ."

"Oh, Merry!" Pippin sat back in dismay.

Merry later congratulated himself on starting to pack eight days before they left. As it was, they stayed up past midnight the night before the merchant arrived, fighting over last minute things to pack. Pippin stomped his foot three times, and Merry shouted that Pippin would have to comply about the packing or he would dump their trunks in the river, and Pippin nearly cried.

Merry breathed a tired sigh of relief when the last trunks was closed and locked (with Pippin sitting on top to close the lid), and he hustled them both off to bed.

-------

"Merry, Merry," Pippin called, nearly falling out of the merchant's caravan in his excitement. "Merry, hurry, or you'll be left behind."

Merry, who was helping the merchant, a stern-looking man with a thick beard and cold eyes, did not answer his cousin. The merchant was lifting the second trunk out of Crickhollow, and Merry was guiding him towards the caravan, careful to keep out of his way. "Just a bit to the left, sir," Merry said. "And ahead are two little steps, though you can cross both of them in a single stride."

"I see the little one's eager to be off," the merchant said crossly. He had told Merry that his name was Greyburd and had offered no other name or title. Afraid of offending, Merry had just called him sir, and that seemed to suit Greyburd just fine. Pippin's anticipation to be off, though it was only nine in the morning, had not pleased the merchant, and Merry had told Pippin to get on the back of the caravan to keep an eye for Sam and Frodo, who were to come see them off.

So far, Pippin had knocked two small wooden boxes, a bolt of fabric, and a glass vase off the caravan. The boxes had been all right, the bolt only got slightly dusty, but the vase broke right away. Merry had offered to pay for it, but Greyburd refused, saying that they were special guests of the Lady Eowyn. Merry had hoped that it didn't mean Eowyn would be charged for Pippin's mistakes.

So Pippin was told not to touch anything else, and Merry directed the rest of their trunks into the caravan. By all accounts, Merry thought he and Pippin should take out their own trunks, but Greyburd was so much faster and stronger that when he marched to the house to take out the trunks, Merry did not object. The trunks were by the front door, which was good because Greyburd could not have fit into the rooms of Crickhollow. Bag End could hold a man with its high, round ceilings, but snug Crickhollow had narrow doors and a low roof. Some of the beams hung so low that Merry and Pippin had to duck from hitting them, being taller than the normal-sized hobbit after their time with the Ents.

"Sorry about that vase," Merry apologized again, as he followed Greyburd back for the last trunk.

The man looked solemnly back at Pippin who bounced up and down on the edge of the caravan back, making the horses look back, startled.

"That young one's looking for a good hiding," the merchant said grimly.

Merry opened his mouth, furiously, ready to tell the man that they were guests of Lady Eowyn, not a couple of children. But then he though better (it was Pippin after all), and only said, "Well, maybe."

By the time the last trunks had been packed, and the open back of the caravan had been boarded up, Sam and Frodo arrived. Merry expected to see them come striding up, swinging their arms and laughing. But instead they rode in a tiny cart pulled by a donkey. Sam held the reins, but Frodo was asleep, curled up in a corner of the cart, covered by a wool blanket. Though May could be cool in the Shire, Merry had been sweating as he finished up packing, and his everyday coat lay in the caravan where he would sit. Pippin had not put on a coat or waistcoat at all, just ran about in breeches and a white shirt.

Frodo looked very small under the blanket, his face pale under his brown locks.

Merry felt his stomach sink as he watched Sam pull the cart to a stop and began to rouse Frodo. "Mr. Frodo? Frodo, we're here. Can you wake yerself up a bit?"

Pippin stopped dancing around and came to stand quietly beside Merry.

Frodo opened his eyes and blinked, not seeming to see anything for a moment.

"Merry," Pippin plucked nervously at Merry's sleeves.

"Shh," Merry hushed him. He put on a cheerful face and hoped Pippin would do the same as he approached the cart. "Morning, Frodo. Come to see us off, have you?"

Frodo got out of the cart slowly, relying on Sam to stand up straight. Sam, always the faithful servant, held him by the arm, trying to look as if he thought Frodo didn't need any help while really supporting most his weight.

"Sorry," Frodo smiled, a smile so sad that Merry wanted to cry. "Guess I'm a bit slow in the morning. Sam had to drag me up of bed at the crack of dawn, and we were scared we'd miss you altogether, weren't we, Sam?"

"Aye, that we were," Sam said jovially, still holding Frodo's arm.

The talk felt strained to Merry, but he blamed that on the fact that they were leaving and partings made folks sad, and not because Frodo looked so weak and pitiful.

"We need to be off," Greyburd said gruffly.

So they began their good-byes. They started off with handshakes and good wishes, which turned into hugs and sniffs, and then Frodo was blinking back tears, and Pippin was wailing, "But why can't you go with us?"

"Take care of him," Merry whispered as he hugged Sam tight one last time.

"I will," Sam promised. "You take care of your lot."

"Just come with us," Pippin begged, not caring that he was crying. "Please come, Frodo!"

"I can't," Frodo said, looking faint. "My home is here, and I can't leave. Please, Pippin, you must understand."

"How you anything to add to the luggage?" Greyburd cut through the mournful parting. "I see a box in your cart, young sir."

Sam nodded. "Yes, it's for Eowyn and Faramir."

Greyburd already was lifting it out of the cart, and Merry knew it was time to tear themselves away or they would never leave. He practically had to drag Pippin to the front of the caravan to the open side door that led to their small seats. There was space for them to sit up in the driver's perch with Greyburd, but Merry thought it best to start inside the caravan and give them time to rest or even sleep after the excitement of getting off. Inside the caravan, Pippin kept saying, "It's not too late. You can still come with us. Just come with us!"

Marry did not correct Pippin, did not want to tell him that it was far too late for Frodo. Instead, Merry got the door closed while Pippin leaned out the window, still calling.

And Greyburd swung up onto his high seat and spoke to the horses.

The caravan jostled forward, and finally realizing that Sam and Frodo were not coming with them, Pippin waved and called out, "We'll miss you. We'll bring you back gifts and stories about all our adventures. Don't worry about us. We'll have loads of fun. Bye, Sam! Bye Frodo!"

Behind Pippin, Merry waved good-bye, too. Frodo still stood beside Sam, and they both seemed so small. Then the caravan turned a bend in the road, and they disappeared.

It was then that Merry realized that he had forgotten to lock up Crickhollow. Had he even shut the door? Should he ask the merchant to stop so he could go back? And have to say their farewells all over again? Not very likely. Surely, the house would be all right until they returned. Frodo still owned it, and Sam, wise Sam, would think to lock it before they went back, wouldn't he? There wasn't really anything all that valuable in the house, a few jars of jam that a hobbit-tot with a sweet-tooth might fancy, but nothing they would really miss.

"Oh, Merry," Pippin bounced up and down on his seat, "we're off. We're really off. The two of us, going all by ourselves – no Aragorn or Legolas to protect us. Just us, you and me, having an adventure all our own."

And somewhere deep in his mind, Merry took all those worries about the house and Frodo and every other concern and locked them up tight in a little box and hid the key. He would have to open that box back up when they returned, but for now, he would be as young and carefree as Pippin and enjoy himself as much as he could.

"Aye, Pippin," he grinned as excitement tingled throughout him, "we're going to have some grand adventures."


	5. Chapter 5 A Sulky Mood

AN: All right, guys, here's my next chapter. Hope you like it. It's a little longer than usual, but don't get used it.

WARNING: There is spanking in this story. If you don't like it, have issues with it, get offended by it, or it brings horrible thoughts to mind for you, DO NOT read or review. You have been warned, so no complaining or I'll have to go into my rant about all the other bad/taboo/inappropriate stuff other people in their stories here.

Oh, and this series was kind of inspired by Larrkin because I read her stories first. Should have said that eariler.

Thanks to everyone for reviewing. I really appreciate it. Give me more!

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By the end of the first day, Pippin was sick of traveling. For Merry, it grew old by the second day. Three weeks to travel to Ithilien had sounded very fast to both of them, and at first, the carriage seemed to be flying along, and the scenery was just a blur as they watched. And they kept pointing things out to each other – "There, Merry, is the crossing to Bree." "That huge tree over there – I know we ate apples under it while Sam fussed over the fire." "Here it rained, and we dashed for that hill, remember?"

But soon the memories got tiresome, and the jostling of the carriage began to wear on their bones, and their joints began to ache even though they weren't walking.

The first night at an inn had awakened memories of the Inn at Bree. After a hearty supper, Merry tried to cheer Pippin up who looked very tired from the traveling.

"Isn't this room just like the one we stayed in with Strider?" Merry asked after they went to their bedroom.

"It's cold," Pippin sat, wearily flopping down on one of the two tiny beds.

The fire was sulking, nearly out, but Merry felt too exhausted to go request more wood. Instead, he got into bed, and Pippin did the same, and they both fell into a deep sleep. But the merchant rose before the break of dawn, hammering on their door to be up and ready to leave in half an hour.

Merry managed to rouse Pippin and get some breakfast and hot tea into him, but Pippin went to sit in the carriage, bleary-eyed and blank-faced, unable to do any more than nod towards Merry's questions. Merry hoped they might sleep some more in the carriage, but the bumping and jostling kept them from doing more than dozing off and getting jerked back awake five seconds later.

Merry had thought he could read while they traveled, especially when they rode on the seat under the driver's perch. But the caravan shook so much he nearly dropped his book, and inside it was too dark to make out the small print. Besides, he felt sick if he stared at the page for longer than a few minutes – something about the swaying and lurching of the caravan made him feel dizzy and sick to his stomach if he read.

The third morning of traveling, Pippin decided he had had enough.

"I can't!" he wailed when they stepped out of the inn and saw the caravan waiting for them. "I can't, Merry! The shaking, and the awful sitting, and the bumping on and on. No, I won't."

"We have to," Merry insisted, pulling Pippin to the side in hopes that gruff Greyburd would not hear. "We aren't halfway there yet. We aren't even a fourth. We've come two days' travel. We have at least nineteen more."

"Nineteen!" Pippin looked a few seconds away from having a panic attack.

"Look," Merry wanted to sound encouraging, "let's say that each day we'll travel ten hours, which we have thus far. Twenty-one days, that's only 210 hours of travel. We've already come twenty hours – only 190 left."

Pippin drew in a haggard breath. "You and your ruddy sums, Merry! Only 190 hours! And how many minutes would that be? How many seconds? Probably a million."

Merry thought about multiplying it out, just to show off. He had always been better at his lessons than Pippin, much quick to put the numbers together on his slate. The hobbit teacher, a cross old biddy with a mouth like she was sucking a lemon, had given Merry an accepting nod at his work, but Pippin usually got punished because he couldn't figure out the numbers, or left his slate at home, or smuggled ginger cookies in his pockets into the one-room school. It had seemed that every time Merry had looked up from his work, Pippin was getting smacked with the ruler or made to write lines or having to stick his nose in the corner.

Ahh, good memories, but Merry made himself come to the present where an impatient, upset, little hobbit stood in front of him with crossed arms and a stubborn pout.

"Maybe we could run beside the caravan," Pippin suggested. "And get back on when we get tired."

"Keep up with a caravan drawn by two horses?" Merry raised an eyebrow, wondering what silly idea Pippin would think of next. "Even Aragorn couldn't keep up with two horses – well, not for long, anyway. How are we going to keep up with these short legs? We would have to run like mad, and the horses would about have to walk backwards."

"Yer always turning down my ideas," Pippin snapped. "I don't want to ride on this blasted contraption one more rotten hour, much less a whole day."

"Sorry to hear that," a stern voice boomed above them.

Pippin jumped, and Merry looked up to see Greyburd standing over them, frowning.

"Mutinying already, I see," the merchant observed.

"No, sir," Merry apologized, "we're just a bit sore from riding for two days. We're not used to it – all the riding in a caravan. When we traveled through Middle Earth last time –"

"I'm sure you were carried in a golden chair," Greyburd said, a sneer in his voice.

Merry blinked. He wondered how Eowyn could have suggested traveling with a man like this. He couldn't imagine his fair Lady ever wanting her guests to ride along with such a grumpy merchant.

Pippin's reaction was a little more vocal. "We did not, ye big oaf. We were heroes, in case ye haven't heard. Lady Eowyn invited us to be her special guests for the summer, and if we want to walk beside the caravan, I guess we can. She would think so."

Before Merry could object, Greyburd took a threatening step towards Pippin. "Look here, little fellow, you get into the caravan, and we're leaving right now. Move!"

Pippin gave the merchant a furious look, but he turned and stomped towards the caravan. Merry thought about apologizing further, but he decided to follow his cousin without saying anything else.

He climbed up on the long seat beside Pippin, who was sitting and staring at the horses with a set face, his eyes angry. Merry thought about saying something in attempt to cheep him up, but he could not think of anything helpful to say, so Merry sat still and watched the horses flick their tails to get the flies off.

A few minutes later, Greyburd got up above them in the driver's perch, and the caravan rumbled forward.

As the morning wore on and the sun climbed higher and higher, Merry tried to ignore the jostling caravan and to think about what he done before on the great, long trip of Middle Earth. He had never felt bored – between the hiking and preparing camp and cleaning up and listening to Aragorn and worrying about Frodo and looking after Pippin, well, there had been little time to sit and think. Yet, now Merry let his thoughts roam free. He thought about the great wide plains of fields, the acres of trees, so much life and beauty throughout Middle Earth.

Merry leaned against the steel bar in front of the seat, designed to keep the passengers from falling out of their seats to be trampled by the horses' feet or crushed under the wheels. He wondered if that was how rulers felt when they looked out over their land. Did Aragorn watch the sun rise over his kingdom every morning and smile as the golden light touched the crops, the homes, and all his people? Would Eowyn take walks through the fields, touching the leaves of the plants as she wandered?

They stopped for lunch, but Pippin refused to say anything. Merry set out bread, dried meat, cheese, cake, and sweet lemonade, but Pippin only picked over his food. That in itself was enough to let Merry know that things were not right. Anytime Pippin did not eat his full meal and ask for extras meant trouble was brewing. Merry wrapped up the leftovers, hoping he could get Pippin to eat it in the afternoon.

That evening, Merry did not feel as sore as he got ready for bed; he guessed his body had slowly gotten used to the shaking of the caravan. He felt ready to join in the merriment of the evening. They were at an inn where ale had been marked two pints for the price of one to make room for the new brew, and Merry was sure that if he told the folk around the fire that he fought in the great battle beside King Aragorn, that he saw Sauron's armies fall away, more heroic acts bravery than one could name, he could probably get them drinks for free all night. Perhaps not the most ethical methods, but Pippin would enjoy it.

Yet, when he looked around for Pippin, the little hobbit was nowhere to be seen. Merry looked through the tavern of the inn, outside in the courtyard, up and down three staircases, until he found Pippin in their room. Curled up in one bed, Pippin lay with his back to Merry, pretending to be asleep. Merry did not try to talk to him; he left Pippin in the room and went down to have a drink himself.

The inn tavern had a bit of liveliness going on: some children were dancing in a corner, careful not to make too much noise lest they get sent to bed. An old man told tall tales to a few travelers crowded near the fire, and some young men flirted with the busty maid who kept bringing them mugs frothing with cold ale. It was the ideal place to get up and tell their stories, to dance on the hearth to hobbit tunes, to try to scare the children with the monsters they had seen. But Merry knew it would be no fun without Pippin. Their stories worked best with the two of them, though half the time Pippin interrupted Merry's turn and nearly ruined the suspense of the stories by blurting out the crisis too early and spoiling the effect.

So Merry sipped his ale and went to bed early. Once in bed, their room sat in darkness, with curtains pulled over the windows. Merry stared up at the ceiling, wondering if the whole trip would seem as trying to Pippin. Maybe Eowyn asked them because she thought she should, not because she really wanted them to come. Maybe she thought they would take one look at Greyburd and decided against going. Perhaps they brought back bad memories for her, of the uncle she lost, and of Faramir who nearly died, and of Aragorn who chose Arwen over her.

Nearly sick with dread, Merry rolled over onto his stomach and clutched the pillow tightly. This trip was bringing back so many worries, so many frightful memories. He had forgotten how big Middle Earth was, how huge the menfolk could be, how little they were, two tiny hobbits in a world of might and power where they felt small and easily crushed. He watched Pippin sleeping and hoped he would not have any nightmares to wake him.

Then Merry fell asleep as well.

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The next morning, their fourth day of travel, brought new gloom. It began to rain. As they sat down to breakfast – some thick porridge and warm milk the inn maid gave them, thinking they were still children, but Merry did not want to send it back, afraid of hurting her feelings – the rain began to patter on the roof. Pippin turned tragic eyes to Merry, and Merry cleared him throat before asking,

"Er – Greyburd, it's beginning to rain."

"Aye," the merchant nodded, chewing on fried pork and eggs.

"What's does that do to the caravan?" Merry inquired, attempting to sound neutral and just curious.

"Makes the going twice as slow," Greyburd took a gulp of hot tea. "Wheels get stuck in the mud if you're not careful. You two will have to ride inside, and we can't take a break except to change horses."

Pippin's pewter spoon clattered down into his wooden bowl. Merry glanced towards him, but Pippin refused to say a word, nor did he eat another bite of breakfast.

Once in the caravan, Merry stretched out on the floor in the corner. Greyburd must have unloaded some of his goods at earlier stops because the caravan had more space than it did when they first started out. As the caravan started in the mud, Merry found that he didn't mind the bumping anymore. It actually felt soothing, and before he knew it, he was dozing off amidst the rumbling.

Mid-day, he got out some food, but Pippin refused it, saying he wasn't hungry. Merry did not understand his cousin's desire to starve himself, but he reckoned Pippin would eat when he got hungry, so Merry nibbled at the food before putting it away. An hour later, he settled back down to sleep, trying to ignore the silently-angry, pouting hobbit beside him.

After all, Merry never could figure out why Pippin went into these pouts. Sometimes, things were awful, like when a barrel of ale broke and ants and bugs were all over the kitchen and then they thought someone had stolen Pippin's birthday coins (which he had hidden under his bed and Merry yelled at him for being so careless and stupid), and through it all, Pippin would be fine. He'd do that little one-shoulder shrug of his and go about his day, perfectly content. And other times, Pippin would sulk over nothing. A hobbit teased him about his hair (that very needed to be cut) or Merry scolded him for not washing the dishes, and he turned into a hot-tempered, brooding little thing who glared and sat silently. Merry wondered how long this time would last. Normally, he found creative ways to deal with Pippin's fretful moods. Once he had told Pippin to take a long walk and not come back until his mood had change; Pippin came back fourteen hours later, ready to be sociable. Another time, Merry had ordered him out of the house, into the rain until he cooled his temper down; Pippin had stood under the parlor window, moaning, "I will be good, Merry. Just let me in out of the rain!" A few neighbors had popped their heads out of their houses, but Merry gave them such a fierce scowl from the open window that they had not interfered. But here was not the time nor place to deal with Pippin in such manners.

"Meriadoc!" Greyburd's voice thundered from the open side door of the caravan.

Merry blinked and pushed himself up to one arm, not realizing he had been asleep. The caravan had stopped, and he yawned as he sat up.

"What?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"You know what. The filthy, spoiled brat," Greyburd answered coldly.

"Don't call him that," Merry protested, sitting up.

"I'll call whatever I chose," the merchant said stubbornly. "He's run off."

"What?" Merry leapt to his feet, nearly hitting his head on a hanging basket.

"Aye, we got fresh horses, and the rain's letting up a bit, but young Master Peregrin's nowhere to be found."

"Did you check the tavern?" Merry made his way to the door of the caravan. "Or a bakery maybe?"

"I don't have time to be checking for missing hobbits," Greyburd said sharply.

"I'm sorry, but Pippin tends to wander off."

"Just like I told her," Greyburd muttered.

"Pardon me?" Merry said with some force.

"Look," Greyburd whirled towards him, "my Lady asked me to take you with me, and I agreed. It was out of my way, and I never planned to come up north this far, but things haven't been easy on any of us. The war destroyed most of our business. The evil armies burnt and savage my people's crops. We had no herbs for spices, no cotton or wool for cloth, no crops for food. I used to have ten caravans and three apprentices to help me. Now, I can barely fill up this here one. Prices have gone up, up, up, through the roof. I'm now paying ten times as much for goods, but only selling them for ten percent more. I had to sell my house just to afford new horses. So when my Lady asks me to fetch you for a handsome price, I must agree if I want to eat this year. That's why I took you. And I sorely regret it."

Merry stared after such an outburst. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "I had no idea what it must be like."

"Aye, you wouldn't," Greyburd scoffed. They were now walking in the rain, and Merry had to jog to keep up with the tall man. "You came back as heroes, your share in the bounty I bet. But me, and my brother who fought at Helm's Deep, and my two cousins who nearly died there, one losing an arm, we still toil on, day after ruddy day."

"Pippin was wrong to run off," Merry decided. "He tends to get in these moods and doesn't think of others. Let me have a moment with him, and I'll get him to apologize."

"I told him to stay in the caravan," Greyburd growled. "We may have won the war, but that don't mean there aren't still evil folk afoot. Sauron had many followers that were not orcs or goblins."

Merry shook his head as he hurried after the merchant. He gained new respect for their guide by the second. In a way, Greyburd was sort of like Aragorn, there being more to him than you saw at first. Of course, Greyburd was older and grayer than Aragorn, and Merry never saw himself becoming as good friends with Greyburd as he had with Aragorn, but it felt nice to –

Greyburd suddenly halted, and Merry ran smack into his leg and fell back with an _ooff_!

Greyburd looked at him as Merry picked himself up, trying to shake the wet, dark mud from his breeches and cloak.

"And now you're all dirty," Greyburd growled. "I'll have to wash you off – can't get that mud over my remaining wares."

"Sorry," Merry apologized, "I should have watched where I was going. I didn't – oh, no . . ."

Greyburd looked in the direction where Merry was looking so forlornly. Across the street, near a pigpen, Pippin stood in knee-deep mud and flung handfuls of gooey mud at the fat pigs. Merry groaned silently, seeing the mud caked on Pippin's legs and his arms and splattered up on his shirt. This was not good, not good at all.

Greyburd crossed the street in about two steps. "Master Peregrin!" he bellowed.

Pippin whirled around, and then he relaxed his face into a careless, aloof expression. "Oh, there you are. Are the horses ready yet?"

The insolence in his tone made Merry choke out a laugh, which he managed to disguise into a cough halfway through. Pippin never knew when to stop. He would go on and on, unaware of how deeply he was digging himself in. And this time literally digging himself.

"I told you to wait in the caravan," Greyburd said sternly.

"I got tired of waiting," Pippin answered, hurling another handful of dirt at the pigs that dozed lazily in the mud. "If we have to ride in the stupid caravan all day, we should be able to walk around whenever we want."

"Listen –" Greyburd began.

"No, you listen," Pippin turned towards him hotly. "We are special guests of Lady Eowyn. And more than, we're heroes. We fought beside kings and warriors, and we are not going to allow you to treat us like common hobbits begging for a ride. We will leave when I say so, and I say – Oh!"

Greyburd had grabbed him by the back of his shirt, about the only place not covered with mud, and started marching him towards the caravan.

"Unhand me, you oaf!" Pippin ordered, trying to squirm free, but Greyburd was resolute, and Merry trailed behind them silently. They reached the caravan, and Greyburd lifted Pippin under the arms and plunked him down on the outside seat behind the horses.

"How dare you?" Pippin gasped, trying to look outraged and really only looking huffy.

"You'll stay there until we reach the inn for tonight," Greyburd ordered. "You, Mr. Meriadoc, will unfortunately have to join him, for there is not time for you to clean off now. But I will deal with you when we get there, Master Peregrin."

Merry climbed up onto the seat beside a dirty, fuming Pippin, and Greyburd got on his perch without another word.

Riding outside was pure misery. The rain hit their faces, the horses' hooves flung more mud up onto their clothes, and the wind cut through their cloaks.

By the time the caravan finally pulled into the blank space at the hitching post, Merry could barely move his chilled limbs to climb down from the seat. He tripped and nearly fell to the ground, but Greyburd grabbed him with one hand to steady him. But then the merchant snatched Pippin by the collar and pulled him from the seat.

"Unharness my horses and put them in the stables," Greyburd called to the stable boy as he dragged Pippin towards the inn.

They made it up the three steps to the inn door when a large woman blocked their way.

"No!" she shrieked. "No more mud tracked in! You take your two boys and get that mud off them before you can come in."

"Marianne, these aren't my boys," Greyburd told her. "They're hobbits."

"I don't care what they are," she declared, waving a portly fist in his face. "I've been cleaning mud out of here all day."

"Meriadoc, wipe your feet," Greyburd ordered. "I'll take care of Master Peregrin."

Without another word, Greyburd put two hands around Pippin's chest and lifted him up into the air. Holding Pippin out in front of him, Greyburd marched past Marianne into the inn.

"My usual room, right?" Greyburd asked as he carried a squirming Pippin towards the wooden stairs.

"Yes, yes," Marianna agreed grumpily.

"Please heat some water for two baths," Greyburd ordered as he mounted the steps.

Merry hurried to wipe his feet clean of mud. Once Marianna nodded grudgingly, he followed Greyburd up the stairs and into a small bedroom.

"Put me down," Pippin ordered. "I'm not a child that you can just carry around like a sack of potatoes."

"Gladly," Greyburd sat on the bed and stood Pippin on the floor in front of him. He unclasped the cloak and let it drop to the floor. Then he untied the ties of Pippin's shirt and roughly pulled it over his head.

"What are you doing?" Pippin cried in protest. Merry stood back against the wall, afraid to interfere lest his chance Greyburd's wrath as well.

"Keeping you from getting mud all over the floor," the merchant growled, dropping the shirt on the cloak. "Get those breeches off as well."

Pippin huffed but he let Greyburd help him out of his breeches, trying not to shake any mud off. Standing in only wool undershorts, Pippin flushed with embarrassment, but tried to look annoyed. "So are you going to leave, or do you want to watch us take a bath as well, you crude lout?"

"I want you to change that surly attitude," Greyburd retorted. "Are you ready to apologize for your surly attitude, you young urchin?"

Merry shook his head. More than anything, Pippin hated to be called those hobbit-tot names.

"I will not!" Pippin declared, stomped his foot and sending mud flying in little bits. "You will apologize to me for speaking so insolently. I'm waiting." And Pippin crossed his arms and held his head high.

Greyburd cocked an eyebrow, and then it happened. He pulled Pippin over his knees facedown.

Merry stared horrified, and Pippin began shouting out orders.

"Stop this! Put me down! Unhand me, you ruffian! I demand that you let me go this instant, or I will tell Lady Eowyn of this as soon as we arrive!"

"I highly doubt that," Greyburd held Pippin down with one hand and brought the other hand, open-palmed, down on Pippin's wool-covered bottom.

"Ow!" Pippin squealed. "What do you think you're doing? Ouch!"

"You know exactly what I'm doing," Greyburd growled, continuing to spank him. "You have been sulky, unruly, and bad-tempered this whole trip. We still have a long trip ahead of us, and I'm tired of your pouting. You will change that, young sir, or I'll do this every morning before we leave. You don't like riding in my caravan? You'll like it even less with a sore bottom."

"Ow! But I don't like it!" Pippin protested. "Ow! Please! I hate bumping along for hours. Oooo!"

"Then don't go to visit my Lady," Greyburd told him, still smacking him firmly. "Your cousin has not complained this whole time. He has been cheerful and helpful these last few days, trying to make this trip pleasant for all of us, and you've been nothing but trouble."

"I'm sorry," Pippin began cry. "I'm sorry, sir, reeeeeally. Please, sto-o-op!"

"Well, next time you feel like sulking, you remember this," Greyburd laid five very hard smacks down, and Pippin wailed, clutching the merchant's leg for dear life.

Merry felt just sick, watching poor Pippin cry, but he didn't dare move or say anything. Greyburd was bigger than both of them combined, and Merry knew that the man was in charge until they reached Lady Eowyn. Merry hated for Pippin to think that might made right, that the most powerful and strongest ruled because they were the most powerful and strongest. He wanted Pippin to think that he had control over his own life, that the choices Pippin made affected his life for good or bad. More than anything, he wished Pippin would try to take control of his own feelings and not depend on others to get him of a blue mood.

"That will do," Greyburd picked Pippin up and sat him down on his left thigh. "Hush now, no more crying. It's all over. No more sulking?"

Pippin shook his head, sending his curls dancing around his face. He closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears. But he did not try to get off Greyburd's lap as he hugged his arms around his bare chest, suddenly cold.

"Very well," Greyburd said, putting his left hand on Pippin's shoulder as he spoke to him in a soft, but firm voice. "Now, you're going to take a bath once Marianne gets here, and I'm going to request some dinner be sent up for you while your cousin washes, and you are going to bed, young sir. Any arguments?"

Pippin shook his head against, sniffing.

"And tomorrow, we'll have a good attitude?" Greyburd pressed.

"Yes, sir," Pippin whispered.

"Good," Greyburd gave Pippin's shoulder a squeeze.

Without warning, Pippin turned and wrapped his arms around the merchant and hugged him tight.

Greyburd blinked, completely taken unaware. Merry saw the man blink and then smile for the first time on the journey. But when Pippin pulled away, Greyburd's face was back to its stern mask.

"I'll go see if Marianne had the water ready yet," Greyburd gently stood Pippin up and left the room.

"Pippin," Merry began, but his cousin shook his head.

"No, Merry, he was right. Sorry I've been so – so awful."

He just looked so pitifully, standing by the huge bed, still hugging his arms to himself and slightly shivering. Merry sighed as he went to him.

"Don't be like that."

Merry meant to draw Pippin into a gentle hug, but the moment he put his arms around his cousin, Pippin hugged him back so tightly Merry nearly lost his breath.

"I miss Frodo!" Pippin cried into Merry's shoulder. "And Sam. We should all get to go together, but now it's just us. And not Aragorn or Legolas or Gimli or Gandalf, either. Everything's wrong."

Merry wished could save something comforting, but again he could not think of anything.

And then Greyburd came back, carrying two buckets of hot water.

Two hours later, Merry, dressed in his nightshirt, was finishing his dinner in Greyburd's room, eating the last piece of bread. He wiped his hands on his napkin and hopped down from his chair. Greyburd was down the stairs, having his own dinner in the tavern room.

Merry crept into the dark room where Pippin lay on one side of the big bed. The inn had no rooms with small beds, but Merry didn't mind. This bed could have fit six hobbits and few dogs as well, quite comfortable.

Merry feared he made too much noise as he closed the door, padded across the floor, and climbed up into bed. Pippin didn't make a sound, breathing softly as he slept. The smell of lavender soap hung in the air, soap that Greyburd had insisted they both use. Any other time, Merry might have protested and Pippin certainly would have refused, but tonight they had gotten into the bath meekly and not object when Greyburd handed them the soap. Merry had a sinking suspicion that the merchant used soap from his own wares, and Merry wanted to make sure they repaid him at the end of the trip.

But for now, he settled down in the bed, a couple of feet from his snoring cousin, and closed his eyes. As he drifted off, Merry wondered what other surprises, good or bad, awaited them in the coming summer.


	6. Chapter 6 A New Arrangement

AN: Hello, all. After a ridiculously long break, I'm back! This chapter is very short, but remember, I was aiming for short chapter and more frequent updates. Hope that will happen this summer. I had fun writing this chapter, but I did it quickly and I hope the language sound right, not too modern.

Tell me what your think.

Disclaimer: Don't own or make any money, but I think I could treat Merry and Pippin quite nicely if they belonged to me.

Thanks!

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Merry awoke the next morning as soon as he heard Greyburd come to tap on the door. "We're awake," Merry called, and he thought he heard the tall man give a satisfied grunt as he walked away.

"Pippin," Merry whispered, shaking his cousin's shoulder, "Pippin! Time to wake up. Come on, we got to get going."

"Let me sleep," Pippin groaned from under his pile of covers.

"Nay," Merry smiled sadly, "we have to get travelling again."

Pippin sighed as he rolled over. Then he gave a little squeak and rolled back on his stomach. "Beastly human," Pippin scowled.

Merry saw the covers move as Pippin reached a hand back to rub. "Very sore?" Merry asked sympathetically.

"Some," Pippin pulled his mouth down in a frown. "That man has a hand like iron. Just wait until Eowyn finds out."

Merry had already slipped out of bed to dress for the day, but he turned to give Pippin a quizzical look over his shoulder. "You want to tell Eowyn about this?"

"No," Pippin admitted, his mouth now in a stubborn pout. "But we could tell her that he treated us cruelly, like an uncouth barbarian."

"You can tell her whatever you choose," Merry decided. "I just want to get through these next weeks until we get there."

"Fine," Pippin huffed as he scooted out of bed. "It figures that I would be the one to travel with such an ogre. I always have the worst luck, don't you think?"

Merry though that he himself had the bad luck between a stern merchant and an impish cousin, but he said nothing as they got ready.

The breakfast downstairs was piping hot and very good. The woman serving smiled down at both of them as she set full plates on the table in front of them. They could barely see over the table, and Pippin chose to get up on his knees to eat.

"Morning," the serving woman nodded. She glanced at the hobbits and then at their full plates. "Can you little ones eat all this food? Would you rather split a plate?"

Pippin had begun to dig into his food already, stuffing his mouth full of potatoes, bread, porridge, ham, and eggs.

"I think we'll manage," Merry assured her. She grinned at him and fondly ruffled his hair.

Merry didn't mind being touched – he lived with a very affectionate hobbit who liked to hug, wrestle, and bounce around all the time – but Merry wondered if he would get tired of the humans treating him like a child. During the wartime, no one had that much time to baby him. They had pushed him out of the way to get to more serious matters, and he found that the best thing he could do to help was to keep from being underfoot. But now . . . he foresaw lots of hair tousling and childish words. The worst was the high pitched tone people used to talk to him, as if he was so small and precious that a normal tone would hurt his feelings. Thankfully, Greyburd did not talk like that, though Merry might have preferred if the merchant used a softer tone with Pippin.

"Merry, it's so good," Pippin said around a mouthful of bread, not even noticing the woman's tone. "Best food ever. I forgot how big the humans were and how much food they can put on plate. We're going to eat well this summer, Merry. You'll have to roll me back home at the end of summer, like a barrel of Brandybuck wine."

"Glad to see you're enjoying it," a deep voice rumbled from behind them.

Pippin craned his head up and around to see Greyburd watching them eat with a blank expression.

Pippin looked like he might lose the food he had just eaten; he swallowed nervously and glanced at Merry with concerned eyes.

"We'll hurry, sir," Merry said politely.

"No need to rush," Greyburd assured them. "The groom is fitting a new shoe on one of the horses. Eat all you want and come to the caravan when you're ready."

"Yes, sir," Merry nodded.

The man turned away, and Pippin waited until he left the inn before resuming chewing his mouthful of food again.

"You all right there?" Merry asked as he ate his own food.

Pippin began to trail his spoon in his food. "I'm not very hungry, I guess . . ."

"Pippin," Merry made his own voice stern, "eat up. We're not going outside until you finish every bite."

Pippin raised sad eyes up, but Merry fixed his own gaze on his food.

Once they were finished, Merry started for the door, and Pippin followed, dragging his feet every inch of the way there.

The morning had dawned bright, promising a sunny day after all the rain. The caravan stood in front on the door as the groom hitched the horses up in front. Pippin looked at the caravan, and Merry knew he was thinking about the hard seat and the jostling and the long day's journey ahead of them. Pippin took a deep breath and started for the inside on the caravan.

"Halt right there," Greyburd commanded, coming up beside them suddenly.

Pippin jumped and tried to edge behind Merry. Merry feared that Greyburd might want to give Pippin a warning about misbehaving, maybe even a reminder of yesterday, and Merry felt certain he couldn't let his cousin start off the day so miserable.

"Nice sunny day," Greyburd observed. "Thought one of you might like to sit up with me. No reason to keep cooped up inside, and you can't see anything from behind the horses. Only have room for one, but if you don't mind waiting your turn until the afternoon, Master Meriadoc . . ."

"No," Merry assured him quickly. Pippin seemed a little scared still, but Merry knew he very much wanted to sit up high and see everything.

"Good," Greyburd snatched up Pippin around the waist.

Pippin squealed for a moment as he flew through the air, and Merry feared he might lose his breakfast, but Greyburd firmly set him down on the high driver's seat. Merry expected Pippin to wince, but the little hobbit was so excited as he looked all about, enjoying the high view.

"Don't fall off," Greyburd ordered. "Master Meriadoc, if you'll please take your place behind the horse. You can't see as much ,but if you'll scoot to the right side this morning, you'll have a good view of the valley in a little bit."

Merry nodded eagerly as he climbed up and sat far to the right.

"Merry!" Pippin called from above, "Merry, it's so high up here! I can see everything. It's like flying!"

"Don't slip off," Merry cautioned. "He won't be happy if you take a tumble, Pippin."

Greyburd gave Merry a half-smile as he checked the horses one last time, and Merry was suddenly struck with the memory of Aragorn. That was exactly had Aragorn had been at first – cold, unyielding, expecting to be obeyed without question – but once you warmed up to him a bit . . .

Merry leaned back against the hard back of the caravan and felt perfectly content and safe as he waited to start.

The new arrangement worked better than Merry had dared hope. He had images of Pippin falling off or tumbling forward to get trampled under the horses' hooves or flipping back and crashing through the roof of the caravan. But Pippin remained still for the most part, and the two times when he got too excited and began bouncing up and down, Greyburd told him to settle down, and Pippin obeyed.

As the morning wore on, Greyburd pointed out interesting sights. As they passed through long, winding woods and Pippin got restless, Greyburd asked a few questions about Pippin's hometown: how did he grow up, who were his friends?

Pippin launched into a long description of growing up in the Shire, and he prattled for nearly an hour while Greyburd listened in friendly silence.

After they stopped to eat and change horses, Pippin couldn't stop talking to Merry. "It's wonderful, Merry. You can see for miles. And Greyburd knows just how to drive – the horses know what he wants them to do every time he touches the reins. And it goes so much faster up there – like the land just flies by, you know. I can't wait until you get your turn to see."

Merry opened his mouth to say he would be happy to stay below if Pippin wanted another turn up top, but Greyburd spoke first,

"Master Meriadoc will enjoy his turn this afternoon, I know. As for you, young master, I made a little bed for you inside the caravan. Why don't you see if you can catch a bit of shut-eye?"

Pippin opened his mouth to say that he did not need a nap, but Greyburd continued,

"If you get some sleep, you could stay up a while later tonight. We're coming to fair-sized town. Sure to be a bit of dancing and singing along with some good ale. Pity if you had to miss it and go to bed early."

Pippin considered, then nodded without any argument. Merry caught sight of him climbing into the caravan and getting up into what looked like a barrel cut longways and on its side with the hollow inside piled with blankets. Merry could imagine the barrel rocking back and forth as the caravan moved, and he hoped the motion might soothe Pippin to sleep. They had not been getting enough sleep with the long days of travel, and Merry thought he might enjoy a snooze in there once Pippin woke up.

"Up you go," Greyburd hoisted Merry up to the driver's seat.

Merry stared at the view from the high perch, and all thoughts of sleeping left him as he gazed around in wonder. It was like climbing a tree and having a look about. Except that they would be moving and going so fast -!

"Ready?" Greyburd swung up and took the reins.

"Is Pippin . . .?" Merry trailed off.

"Aye, the little master will have himself a nice nap. Keep him from being to grumpy tonight. These days will be hard on you two, being so small."

"We're not really small," Merry protested. "We spent some time with the Ents, and we are almost the tallest hobbits in the Shire."

"I have ten-year-old nephew who is taller," Greyburd gave a sudden smile.

Merry tried not to frown at the comparison. "Does he like travelling with you?"

To his amazement, Greyburd gave a short laugh. "When he was eight, I took that mischievous brat with me to visit my parents. Had to stop once a day to tan his hide or give him a lecture about staying still or to stop jumping out of the moving caravan. After that, I swore I would never take him anywhere again."

"Did you?" Merry inquired.

Greyburd's face shadowed slightly. "His father died in the war. I wanted to take the boy in, but traveling like I do . . . not good for a child. I arranged with Lady Eowyn for him to work as a page in her house. You might see him when you're there. Name's Tancred, and he has brown hair and green eyes and a right naughty look."

"I'll watch for him," Merry giggled softly, amused by Greyburd's overly-stern, yet affectionate expression for his nephew.

Without anymore talk, Greyburd spoke to the horses and they started forward. Merry clutched the edge of the wooden seat, startled by how quickly they moved.

"Hold on," Greyburd advised, watching the horses carefully. "We'll be going a bit faster yet, once the horses find their pace."

Merry tried to relax, but he had trouble breathing as the horses trotting along and the scenery flew by.

"Think this might be a good way to plan our days," Greyburd remarked. "Little one ride up here in the morning, and then you get up here the afternoon while he naps a bit. When he wakes, I'll stop to let him sit below us, and you can join him if you like so you two can have time to chat until we stop for the night."

Merry nodded along eagerly. He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that the rest of the trip would run much more smoothly than it had begun.


	7. Chapter 7 Arriving

Yes, it's been forever since I updated this story. But I still like it and eventually I'm going to finish it. I have so many other stories, but I will finish them too. Thanks to whoever is still reading this story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing.

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"They're coming," Eowyn exclaimed as she rushed into her bedroom chamber. "They're coming today!"

"Eh?" Faramir lifted his head out of the soft bed cushions. "What are you . . . it's still dark out."

"I heard they might arrive today," Eowyn hurried over to the bed, her dark golden hair falling in waves at she went. "So I rose early and found a rider coming from the north, and he said that Greyburd's caravan was but a handful of miles from here. That means they will be here near noon or shortly afterwards."

"Good," Faramir nodded. "Glad they made it. Wake me when they get here." He slumped back on the bed, ready to fall asleep again.

"You can't sleep," Eowyn protested. "You can't lie there like a rock when Merry and Pippin are on their way here. My dearest little friends are coming, and you bury your head in bed?"

"I'll be awake when they arrive," Faramir mumbled into his pillow.

"You'll be awake now," Eowyn decided. She grabbed the top cover, a warm woolen blanket with an embroidered edge, and yanked it off him.

"Ai!" he lifted his head to glare at her. "Take care, woman. I've but my long shirt on."

"And it's about to come off," she announced tossing aside the cover. "The maids are drawing a bath, and you're going to get cleaned and in your new clothes I had made, all before you breakfast."

Faramir grumpily sat up, his little brown hair stick up at odd angles. "I need no bath. I had one – well . . ."

"Days ago," she said, pulling the undercovers straight with him still on top of them. "And you went riding last night. I won't have you smelling like a stable with such important guests arriving."

"You never minded my riding before," he protested, watching as she flew about the room, tidying.

"I'm a good wife," she snapped. "I understand that my husband won't always be as clean and sweet-smelling as on our wedding night –"

"Sweet-smelling?" Faramir looked horrified. "Have a thought never to say that again, especially not in front of anyone!"

"But you're getting clean today," Eowyn went on, ignoring his exclamation. "The entire town will want to greet the Hobbits, and I won't have anyone saying I'm neglecting my wifely duties to you."

"And those duties include dragging me out of bed ere sunrise and forcing a cleaning? You're worse than my old nurse."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Eowyn marched over to the bed and grabbed his hand. "Up, up!"

She had strength, but Faramir was sure she could not pull him out of bed. However, she yanked hard at his arm, and he obligingly rose out of bed. She tugged him into the next room, a spacious bathing chamber.

Two maids were in there, pouring hot water into the bathing tub. One maid was yawning, and the other seemed asleep on her feet. Yet, when they saw Eowyn, both began to move a little faster. Faramir was glad his nightshirt reached his knees, but he turned to his wife and demanded,

"Did you get all the servants up?"

"Yes, I did," she announced, grabbing a pitcher of hot water and pouring it into the tub. "They all have their assignments. I know Millimon usually helps you bathe, but I told him to go help butcher the hogs."

Faramir wanted to object, but he supposed that it was just as well. Millimon was only sixteen and not the best of valets or footmen, and given the choice he would much rather watch a hog slaughtering than help my lord prepare for guests.

"I will assist you in the bath," Eowyn announced. "You two go see if the cooks need aid. And eat something – there will be no time later."

The two maids took off, ready to leave my lady and all her demands. Eowyn turned towards her husband.

"Arms up," she ordered and pulled up the nightshirt even before he could comply.

For the first time in his life, Faramir felt embarrassed to stand before his wife naked. He had been so before, but usually she was nude as well, and they were headed for bed, and he would carry her there. Now, he could barely resist the urge not to cover himself, but Eowyn didn't seem to notice.

"Into the bath," she pointed. When he didn't jump to it, she brought her hand down on his bare bottom, striking his right cheek. "Move!"

Amazed, he looked at her. "Did you just –"

"Yes, and you have another one coming if you don't move," she threatened.

He looked down at her, and for a moment, he considered picking her up and dumping _her_ into the bath. But then he saw the worry lines on her forehead, the concern in her eyes, and he got into the tub without another word.

The water felt good, but he didn't dare lean back to enjoy it. Instead, he reached for the soap. Her fingers slipped under his, and she snatched the trough of soap away.

"I'll do it," Eowyn announced. "You'll take too long."

"I'll take too – ah!" Faramir sputtered as she ran the wet rag over his face and he got a mouthful of soap.

Normally, the idea of his wife bathing him would have filled Faramir with excitement, especially the thought of her leaning over the tub and her long tresses dipping into the water where he could grab them and wrap them around his fingers and maybe coax her to join him though the tub wasn't really big enough. But this bath made him feel as if he were eight years old, and his stern nanny were washing him after he had disobeyed and played in the mud.

Eowym washed his face, his arms, torso, back, feet, and legs, and was about to reach down into the water when he grabbed her arm.

"If you ever want children, you best let me wash down there," he advised. "In your present state, I doubt very much if you would be gentle enough to ensure our family line."

She looked into his eyes, annoyed for a moment. But her eyes softened, and he thought she might lean in to kiss him. However, she straightened, dropping the rag into his hand. "You better do it well, or I'll come do it myself. But I'll wash your hair in the mean time."

Her hands were firm, but surprisingly gentle as she wet, soaped, and then washed out his hair. He kept it shorter now, hanging a couple inches from his shoulders, and she combed it back with her fingers to keep the soap out of his eyes while she rinsed it out.

"There – you're clean," Eowyn announced. "Let's get you dried and dressed quickly."

Faramir reflected that he had not been subjected to this kind of treatment since he had been fifteen and drank too much one night. Boromir had dragged him out of bed and got him dressed and to his lessons before their father realized anything was wrong, but even his tough older brother had not been as insistent as his wife. And none of the clothes, all new and never worn before, pleased Eowyn.

"Look at these breeches," she fussed. "Why did I ever say dark brown? You should wear dark green or black, not this drab color." She held the breeches up and he stepped into them and she pulled them up, still scolding.

"Oh, the hips look a little loose. And the waist is a bit snug. For the love of Gondor, what have you been eating?"

Faramir tried to look at her, shocked that she would actually say something like that.

"Never mind, the tunic should be long enough to cover," she decided. "Look, the gold stitching is already starting to fray. That horrid servant girl – she should be horse whipped. If she cut the cording too short –" Eowyn looked so foreboding that Faramir felt a moment of worry about their servants.

Fortunately, the new clothes fit, and Faramir found he could walk easily though the new cloth felt a bit stiff.

"Good – and your hair will do," Eowyn noted. "Though it _will_ part on the wrong side. Sit and don't spoil your clothes while I fix my hair."

His self-pride stinging a bit, Faramir sat down in a large wooden chair and watched as Eowyn began to comb her long dark blond tresses. Faramir had given her the comb for her last birthday, but he usually saw her sitting at a stool with a servant girl arranging those gorgeous locks. Today Eowyn's brushing seemed erratic, her hands jerking over her hair in short yanks.

"Eowyn?" Faramir started to rise from his chair.

"Don't move!" she ordered, not looking at him. "Don't ruin it."

"Ruin it?" Faramir said, bewildered.

"Yes, it has to be perfect," Eowyn declared. Suddenly, she clasped the comb with both hands and lowered her head. A sob caught in her throat, and she dropped the comb in her lap to cover her face.

Faramir would not have stayed still, even if King Aragorn had given the order. In a second, he stood by his wife's side. "Eowyn, what is it? Are you ill?"

"No," she shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. "No, I'm perfectly well."

"Nonsense," Faramir decided. He put both hands around her slim waist and pulled her up. "You're going straight to bed until you calm down."

"Oh, Faramir I'm fine. I'm – Faramir, put me down!" Eowyn gasped as he scooped her up in his strong arms. "Put me down now!"

"Not until you tell me why you're so upset," he insisted. "If you refuse, it's straight to bed, and you can see the hobbits tomorrow."

She could see the resolution in his eyes, and she sighed in agreement. He sat down in the big chair, keeping her on his lap with his hands around her waist protectively.

"I'm only wanted everything to be right," she gazed down at her hands. "The last time the hobbits came to visit me, my – my uncle was still alive." She broke into tears again, rasping in air through trembling lips.

"Ah, my love," Faramir whispered. He drew her close, kissing the top of her soft hair, wishing he could hold her like that forever.

"I thought maybe if they came and I did all of it right, I could stop feeling so . . ." she took a deep breath. Then she sat up, and Faramir knew the moment was over. For a moment there, she had been vulnerable and scared, and he could play her warrior, her protector. But the moment had passed, and she returned to her strength, her position as Lady Eowyn.

"Enough of this," Eowyn stood, quickly wiping her eyes. "My hair must be an absolute mess. Oh, and I mussed up your clothes."

"Not another word about my clothes," Faramir said, kindly but firmly. "And if you don't stop fussing, you'll find just how much of a husband I can be to you. So you do what you like with those beautiful locks, and we're going to breakfast before the little ones arrive."

"I'm not hungry," Eowyn grabbed the comb and began dragging it through her hair.

"Eowyn, you will eat," Faramir announced quietly.

"Very well," she agreed. "But promise me you'll keep those new clothes clean."

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The sun had climbed high in the sky and looked about ready to start its descend. Eowyn looked ready to send an army out to look for the caravan, and Faramir was about to interfere for the fifth time that morning when a call came out.

"My lady," a guard bellowed from a high tower. "My lady, I see them drawing near."

Eowyn dropped the flowers she was arranging into a tall urn at the side of the great hall. She turned to Faramir, who had stood the whole time so as to not mess up his clothes, and he put out a hand for her.

"Shall we, my lady?"

Eowyn took his hand, and together they moved towards the double entrance doors. On the broad steps outside, the servants lined themselves up and the townsfolk began to arrange themselves so the special guest would have a grand welcome.

Eowyn tried to stand proud and dignified, her arm still on her husbands as the caravan drove up. But she could barely keep from smiling in anticipation.

The caravan pulled to a stop, and she could see Greyburd tying the reins from his perch. But before he could jump down, the side door of the caravan flew open, and a blur of hobbit clothes and curls dashed out. A second later, Merry got out of the caravan in a much more dignified fashion, but Pippin had already started up the stairs.

"Eowyn! Eowyn!" he called, waving and grinning as he mounted the steps, going faster and faster.

Merry broke into a run as well, following his cousin up the stairs, only a step or tow behind.

Eowyn abandoned her stately pose, and she rushed down the steps, holding up the train of her long gown with one hand and outstretching the other hand towards the dearest creatures in the entire Middle Earth.

They met on the middle of the stairs, and Eowyn knelt with out-stretched arms. Pippin flung himself into her embrace. Merry hit her a second later, and the impact caused her to fall back into a sitting position on the stairs, both arms around the dear hobbits.

"Oh, you sweetest things," she cried, kissing their warm cheeks and soft hair over and over again as they clung to her. "My darling friends, my wonderful Merry and dearest Pippin! How I've missed you. But you're here, oh, you're here, my sweetest hobbits."

Merry felt tears crowd his eyes, but he blinked them away as he held onto Eowyn. Finally, finally, they had arrived.


End file.
